How You Met Your Father
by totalqt16
Summary: A 'father-son' weekend, a rescued runnaway bride, a locket, and a legendary love. In her sixteen years, Ellie Stinson thought she heard the whole story ... she was wrong. Barney/Robin (Swarkles) feat. OC Post-Final-AU.


**My AU response to the spit-on-your-heart-and-screw-you-with-a-cactus series finale of the would-be incredible show, **_**How I Met Your Mother**_**. Dedicated to Emma – xx Darren is a Goober xx – who loves/hates the show as much as I do, and who prompted the idea for this fic. As this is my first – and likely last – HIMYM fic, I am sincerely hoping that I got Robin right. Long live Swarkles! Enjoy and Review. **

_Year 2036 _

She turned slowly in front of the bedroom mirror, a stern pout slowly forming at the corner's of her mouth, and the way the undeniably _girly _material fanned out above her thighs. Her favorite pair of jeans crumpled at the half-cracked entrance of her closet, adored retro plaid button down resting in much the same state between the sheets of her unmade bed. A crease formed at the bridge of her nose. The chestnut-brown ringlets, that fell from a ponytail set high on the top of her head smelled far too clean.

This wasn't Ellie Stinson.

A jaded sigh escaped as she turned toward the neatly folded baby-pink sweater on her mattress. The only thing in the small room that wasn't in complete disarray. It was a wonder Mom hadn't grown suspicious. She unfolded the material as carefully as she could, throwing worried glaces at the doorway with every move.

She shouldn't have done it – the guilt-ridden thought was fast becoming second pulse, as present and frequent as the act of breathing. But, this was her first date in the entirety of her sixteen years of existence – she was reminded, as the stolen item inside the material began to reveal itself, and thoughts of the slightest disdain for her over-protective father came to light. She wanted to look nice.

She stole a glace to the mirror again, before lifting the locket from its place. Besides, even though Mom had never outright _said _anything about her love of the sports-induced bruises littering her shoulders, her propensity for more comfortable clothing, and the idea of bathing twice a day – being one that set her eyes to roll, and an uncomfortable twinge to crawl up her spine – she couldn't help but feel that any moment of pride for mother-dear involved her daughter in frills and smelling strongly of artificial roses.

She could play the part for one night, she decided, clasping the locket behind the curve of her neck and forcing a smile at her appearance. Her choice in dress would make Mom happy ... well, all except her choice in 'borrowed' accessories – and she really _liked _this guy.

"Ya look great!" a voice chirped rather loudly from behind her. Ellie smiled sheepishly as her mother approached, feinting as innocent an expression as physically possible – a skill that always seemed to work when she was a kid.

"Nice dreeess ..." surveyed the woman, in a near-sarcastic – near melodic – tone, "Long enough to please Dad, yet short enough to appear cute and classy. 'Never got to dress like this at your age ..." Mom continued, gently ushering her daughter to turn fully in front of the mirror, and fiddling with her hair. "... No, I'm wrong ... at your age I was ..."

"Please. Mom." Ellie haulted her, "Spare me another rendition of _Let's Go to the Mall _..."

"Fine." Robin grumbled, "I'd rather burry that part of my life six feet under as it is ... and speaking of _buried_ ..." Ellie's face tinged scarlet as her mother'sfingers grazed the heart beneath the slope of her shoulder blades.

"It's pretty special, you know?" Mom continued, lightly – still twisting at the end's of Ellie's hair, never satisfied with the way it landed.

"Yes, Mom." Daughter answered flatly, winching with each slight tug. She'd heard the story of Grandpa's deluded attempts at bonding, of Uncle Ted's misguided chivalry, and of her mother's extreme pre-wedding jitters more times than she could count – she'd be late if she'd stopped to listen. She _did _have them committed to memory after all.

"You know _why_?" Robin prompted.

"Yes, Mom." Another flat response.

"Oh, I don't think you _do_." Mom smirked, "I never told ya this one ... there's another reason why it's important. Have you got time?"

Resisting the urge to huff at this, Ellie glanced at the clock. Only 6. Yes, unfortunately, time was not something she was short of at the moment. If she could just nod and smile in the right intervals, recite the ending aloud, and get the hell out there before she'd have to suffer through another – she'd be _juust_ fine.

"Then sit. I'm gonna tell you an incredible story ..."

She swallowed heavily, she'd be _trapped _here ...

"Sweetheart?" piped Robin, "Do you remember the first time you met your father?"


End file.
